


Unfamiliar Territory

by Thegirlwiththekey



Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-12
Updated: 2013-07-12
Packaged: 2017-12-19 06:17:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 8,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/880423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thegirlwiththekey/pseuds/Thegirlwiththekey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and Joan enter unfamiliar territory in their professional relationship. Has a line been crossed?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1

He awoke to unfamiliar surroundings. Sherlock waited for his eyes to focus and his mind to return from the world of sleep it had fallen into. Slowly all of his senses came back to him. The pillows beneath his head were soft and feathery- not what he was used to. The wardrobe opposite him was not his own and was that- perfume he could smell? A memory steam rolled out of the slumber induced dark in his mind. This was Joan’s room. That was Joan’s perfume he could smell and it was her duck feathered pillows beneath his head. He sat up with a jolt and turned his head slowly to the left. Joan Watson was asleep on the pillow next to his, facing the other way. He watched the duvet rise and fall slowly with her breathing. Daring to peek under the duvet he saw that he was indeed naked and judging by her bare back, so was she. Sherlock slipped out of the bed and patted towards the door-which was already open and turning back he saw a pile of hastily removed clothes, some his and some not his. He sorted through and picked out those that belonged to him. Within minutes he had put them on and was on his way to the police station to meet Captain Gregson.

“Where’s your handler?” Gregson joked when he saw that Sherlock was alone.

“She doesn’t follow me everywhere you know!” Sherlock retorted. He brushed past Gregson to reach the files on the Captain’s desk. Was that perfume he could smell on Sherlock? Gregson stared bemused at Sherlock’s turned back. Perhaps Joan had attempted to freshen the home they shared and the feminine touches had brushed off on Sherlock in more ways than one. Gregson considered how the old the old Sherlock would have reacted if he had found out he smelled like a woman- he would probably just laugh it off now. Gregson’s train of thought was interrupted by Sherlock’s phone going off. He rummaged in his pockets and retrieved it, placing the files back on the desk. They were all dull, not enough to distract Sherlock as much as he wanted distracting. The message was from Joan.

‘Come back, I’m not mad.’ 

Sherlock considered the message for a few moments before heading to the door, he gripped the handle and the metal blinds covering the window rattled. Gregson spoke with a hint of irritation.

“You’ve only just got here!”

“All dull, you can solve them all without me, I have other things to be doing.”  
Gregson wasn’t sure how to take the back-handed compliment, but whilst he thought of a response, Sherlock had opened the door and was striding out of the station much to the bemusement of the officers who had seen him enter just a few minutes earlier. Gregson pinched the top of his nose in a stereotypical sign of stress and sighed. He picked up a file and began to read.


	2. 2

Joan was mad.

 

She had been woken by the light streaming through the window. Strange- the curtains had not been closed. Slowly she opened her eyes and realised that her head felt fuzzy. As she sat up she also realised that she felt violently sick and upon running to the bathroom she was indeed, violently sick. She returned to her bedroom and sat tentatively on the edge of her bed and tried desperately to remember the previous night. Joan glanced around the room for evidence. Her clothes were strewn and dishevelled. She looked at the pillow next to her. It had a large indent, more so than she would usually cause. And why had she gone to bed naked? Sherlock’s tendency to appear in her room unannounced meant that she always made sure she was clothed in bed. Confused but feeling too ill to consider anymore she got up and pulled on some old clothes that she used for pyjamas and went downstairs. 

Her coat and scarf were on the back of one of the chairs in the kitchen and there were two empty wine bottles on the table. More significantly there was only one glass. That explained her fuzzy head she thought, cursing. Joan walked towards the kettle to make tea to soothe her sickness. All of the implements had been knocked over. Sugar and coffee   
were strewn everywhere and mugs lay upturned. Oh, that must have been when...

And just like Sherlock half an hour previously, a memory came steam rolling out of the dark towards Joan.

That must have been when Sherlock lifted her up on the kitchen worktop as they kissed.

Joan stood open mouthed. The first memory cleared the way for others and slowly the whole previous night came flooding back to her.  
She marched over to her handbag and grabbed her phone from inside. Her mind reeled with all the angry things she could text Sherlock. Her thumbs hovered. If she unleashed even a fraction of what she felt, Sherlock would simply not come back. He would avoid her for hours, perhaps even days. No. She knew what she had to do.  
‘Come back, I’m not mad.’


	3. 3

She’s not mad. Sherlock thought as he opened the Brownstone’s door. He couldn’t help but feel a little bit pleased. She didn’t mind and he made her happy. There was somewhat of a spring in his step as he closed the door behind him only to see Joan standing in the hallway fists clenched at her side. She looked beautiful, Sherlock thought. Her hair had not been brushed and sat away from her head in very loose waves. She had no makeup on and a slightly ashen colour to her face, Sherlock studied her slender neck following it up...

“Sherlock!” she cried and he snapped out of his thoughts. She strode towards him and before he could react she slapped him hard across the face, striking his cheek. He recoiled aghast.

“Urm... ouch!” he said emphasising the “ouch”.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Joan was yelling even louder now and her stance was one of an angry cat.

“Hey, you instigated it” he replied somewhat indignantly.

“No I...” she trailed off. 

“You kissed me first.” He continued. Sherlock was quite calm. Joan looked up at him. He was quite sure, he hadn’t had any wine, and he hadn’t had any for months now. No drugs of any kind- that was the deal. So he could remember every detail of the previous night.

“Watson, let’s go and sit down and talk this through.” She didn’t reply they both walked into the living room and sat on the couch. Joan pulled a cushion onto her lap, an indicator that she felt uncomfortable Sherlock noticed. 

“I’m not one of your cheap hookers you know” Joan said quietly. “I am dignified, I don’t sleep around and I don’t get involved with clients.”

“I thought you said you weren’t a hooker” Sherlock joked, a quick flash of inspiration on her choice of the word “client”. He instantly regretted it as she flashed him a look that pierced a hole in his head right through to the wall behind him. “Sorry. Watson, I know that you’re a brilliantly clever woman. You’re not my normal type and yes you are my sober companion. You have not gone down in my esteem at all and if you so choose, no one else will ever find out and we won’t ever discuss it again.” Her brow wrinkled as she thought   
for a moment.

“I want to know what happened, I can’t remember it all” Joan said finally.

“Fine” Sherlock replied with an awful feeling that he would regret telling her everything that had occurred almost as much the client joke.


	4. 4

*** The previous evening ***

 

The door opened and closed and Sherlock heard Joan’s heels click across the Brownstone’s wooden floor towards the kitchen. He himself was sat under the table thinking. Joan clicked across to the cupboard and removed a glass and left the kitchen, running up the stairs. She returned later – shoeless and with a bottle of wine in her hand. She poured a glass and leant against the kitchen side and sighed.

“Watson!” Sherlock called out and Joan almost dropped her glass of wine.

“Jesus Christ Sherlock you almost gave me a heart attack. What are you doing under the table?”

“Thinking” he replied somewhat mysteriously. She didn’t question it as she was quite used to Sherlock’s strange ways after many weeks living together. Clearly something was wrong. It would take a lot for Joan Watson to break her own rules of having no drugs in the house. So Sherlock crawled out to investigate.

“Date with Jimmy didn’t go well then I take it?”

“I don’t want to talk about it” she replied quietly and miserably. Sherlock wrinkled his face and wandered around the table following a groove in it. He often felt slightly unsure how to approach such social situations.

“So the wine...” he questioned further. Joan put down the glass firmly down on the side and finally looked up at Sherlock. 

“I am sorry. But I have a bit of a secret stash in my room. I didn’t want to leave it in the fridge to tempt you but this is a dire situation.”

“’Secret stash?! Who’s the junkie now?” Sherlock joked. 

“I’ll put it away; it’s totally unprofessional of me.”

“No, no, don’t worry; do you want to... talk about Jimmy?”

Joan narrowed her eyes. Was Sherlock being sympathetic? She took off her coat and scarf and threw them on the back of a chair. They both sat down and Joan poured herself another glass of decidedly warm wine. 

“So I thought as it was the third date I should tell him about my job. So I explained that I was a sober companion and lived with a client. He enquired as to your gender” she gestured towards Sherlock as she said this “and well he got more than a little bit tetchy when I told him. He said I told him I was a doctor. Well I WAS a Doctor; I guess he just interpreted that wrong. So he got a bit agitated and we had a bit of an argument. It got a little bit out of hand, the whole restaurant ended up hearing and then I stormed out. A few people even applauded.” Sherlock detected a hint of pride in her last sentence and he couldn’t contain it any longer, he started to laugh, laugh like he hadn’t laughed in a long time. No- one had made him laugh like this since... since Irene. Joan looked at him and she too began to laugh and the pair of them laughed until tears rolled down their faces.

And a few more glasses of wine later Sherlock and Joan were dancing around the kitchen table to Duran Duran. 

“Her name is Rioooooo and she dances on the saaaaand.”

Joan left briefly to retrieve another bottle of wine from her room and before long she had forgotten all about her argument with Jimmy. They both felt mutually happy in each other’s company, dancing around to 80s pop hand in hand, Sherlock spinning Joan until she almost fell over with dizziness. 

“You’re not what I thought you were Watson” Sherlock said when they had both returned to the table, somewhat exhausted.

“Oh yes? Why’s that then?” Joan replied with a giggle.

“You’re not stuffy at all. You’re fun and a lovely person to be around. I thought getting a sober companion would be like having a chain and ball attached to my ankle. But I hope you know I consider you a fr...”

Before he could finish his sentence Joan Watson leant across and kissed Sherlock hard on the lips.


	5. 5

** The previous evening **

Joan had closed her eyes and placed her hands behind Sherlock’s head; she slid her tongue into his mouth and continued to kiss him. At first Sherlock was startled but he didn’t pull away. Slowly he placed his hands around her narrow waist and lifted her off the kitchen chair. Joan wrapped her legs around him and her arms around his broad shoulders. Sherlock was kissing back now and as it became more passionate he placed her less than gently down on the kitchen side, knocking over the paraphernalia on it. Neither of them cared. 

Sherlock ran his hands through Joan’s hair and the scent of apples and mint pooled around him. Eventually she pulled away and stared up into his face, her legs still wrapped around him. Her affection surprised him; Sherlock was not used to it. His normal sexual encounters were always paid for and never had any of the same passion. He stared into her glassy eyes and felt as if he was being pulled two ways by his very sober mind. The inebriated mind speaks the truth he thought. Joan’s was certainly doing that. Should he – as the sober one- be the absolutely rational one? In those few seconds of thought Joan had leant forward and kissed him again. 

Before he knew it they were upstairs in Joan’s room. He noticed how un-homely it was; she wasn’t comfortable enough to make it her own yet he deduced. No pictures, no decorations. These deductions were quickly forgotten. Sherlock and Joan stood just an inch apart looking at each other their chests revealing their hastening breathing. She tiptoed, lifted up his top and slid it up off him. He did the same to her and they pulled off each other’s clothes quickly until eventually they were naked. Strangely neither felt embarrassment or shame at being naked in each other’s company for the first time. The wine had taken the edge off of Joan’s embarrassment but he himself felt completely comfortable despite his sobriety. Slowly he sat down on the edge of the bed and Joan sat on his lap wrapping herself around him, tossing her hair off her shoulders. Both were kissing each other moving their heads this way and that. Joan began to rise and fall on his lap in the motion of their kissing and Sherlock lay back on the bed. Legs either side of his hips and one hand on his chest Joan pulled Sherlock inside her. Moving rhythmically now Joan tipped her head back and her hair bounced up and down. Cautiously Sherlock put his hands on the side of her rib cage and slid them down to her hips making her shudder. Her rocking was getting faster now and Sherlock felt waves of shivers moving through his body. All at once he felt her muscles tense and she gasped and he did the same. Joan leant down and kissed his lips quickly, biting his bottom lip as she pulled away. She put her head on his chest.  
“I’ve never loved anyone as much I love you Sherlock” she said quietly yet earnestly.   
Astounded, Sherlock opened his mouth to reply only to hear her breathing had slowed. He delicately raised his head only to see that she had fallen asleep. Even more tentatively he sat up completely, holding her head in his large hands. He lifted her off of him and somewhat awkwardly used one hand to pull back the covers and lower her into it. Then, he crawled in next to her and too fell asleep.

Sherlock Holmes was loved. 

Sherlock Holmes was in love.


	6. 6

“Joan?” Sherlock probed. Having finished recounting the previous evening’s events a silence had hung heavy in the air. He had decided to omit the part where she had told him she loved him. He felt that was for the best. If she meant it, she would say it again at some point in the future.

“It’s odd when you call me that” Joan said, finally breaking the unnerving quiet in the room. He chuckled and smiled at her. “But as you said earlier, I would prefer if this went no further.”

“The inebriated mind speaks the truth you know” he said remembering his thoughts from last night.

“Sherlock...”

“I’m just saying that...”

“SHERLOCK!”

“Ok I’m sorry, as you wish. I think you should go and get changed, Detective Bell and Captain Gregson require our presence at the station.”

“First I need to clean your face, it’s bleeding. When I hit you, I’m wearing a ring.” She twiddled the large and quite frankly garish plastic ring around her slender finger.  
Sherlock remembered it digging into his chest last night...

“I’m sorry for urm, hitting you before I knew the full picture.”

“Quite alright Watson, don’t worry, I’ll clean my face, and you go and get changed.”

As she walked upstairs Sherlock noticed her slide the ring off her finger and he rubbed his face where it had sliced it. He made a mental note to throw it in the fire the next time he saw it.

***  
“Jesus Holmes what happened to your face, you were only gone an hour?” Captain Gregson asked as they entered his office.

“Oh I...”

Joan jumped in to fill the gap where Sherlock paused momentarily to think of an excuse. 

“I dropped a plate; a shard of it bounced up and cut his face. Clumsy of me really.” She giggled and Gregson seemed satisfied with the excuse.

“I thought you said that you weren’t going to help with any of the cases today?”

Joan looked across at Sherlock puzzled. Why would he turn down the opportunity to relieve himself of the boredom that crippled him if he wasn’t working on a case or an experiment?

“Yes well I decided against it. You and your department need all the help you can get. I take it Detective Bell is at the mortuary as we speak?”

“Yeah he’s there, are you going to have a look?”

“I certainly think we should. Come along Watson your medical knowledge will be much appreciated by me on this case.” The duo left the office and as they were walking to   
mortuary Joan stopped Sherlock.

“Did you come here to avoid me this morning?” Sherlock’s sheepish expression gave his answer away.

“I thought you said we weren’t going to talk about it?”

She nodded in agreement and pushed open the mortuary’s door.


	7. 7

Detective Bell was standing by the body of a young woman. It was covered by a sheet so only the face was uncovered. He looked somewhat uncomfortable, like she might leap up and grab him at any moment. Bell acknowledged them both and pulled back the sheet covering the rest of the woman’s body. Sherlock surveyed her for a moment.

“Cafe-au-lait nevi.” He declared after a few seconds.

“I’m sorry?” said Bell.

“That was French and Latin. Meaning for coffee- with- milk coloured, birthmark.” Sherlock replied.

“Oh, so is that related to how she died or...?” Bell asked.

“Funnily enough her birthmark did not contribute to her death. I was just pointing it out.”

“Showing off more like” Bell remarked sarcastically.

Sherlock went on. “Watson has one on the lower part of her right hip.”

Joan had a very large and loud coughing fit over the last part of Sherlock’s sentence but the damage was done. Bell looked at them both confused, had he heard what he thought he had heard? Sherlock ploughed on oblivious.

“Miss Watson, if you could cast your medical eye over this body and tell me what you see.”

Joan felt her cheeks blush slightly; she hated it when Sherlock put her on the spot like this. Nevertheless she walked towards the body and began looking over every inch of it. 

After a few minutes, she looked up at Sherlock. He waved his arms in an encouraging motion.

“Well, go on!” he said; clearly excited. 

“This is a young woman in her mid-20s I would say. She is in good health apart from some bruising around her neck but...”

“But!” Sherlock interrupted “not enough to kill her no?” 

“No, but they do look like they have been caused by fingers.”

“Excellent” Sherlock said “I could burst with pride.”

Bell interjected: “No offence guys. But all of that is in the autopsy report.” 

“I should think it is. Goodbye Bell, I have enough to start my investigations now” he headed for the door.

“What, you don’t even know her name?” 

“Don’t need to, off we go Watson.” Joan walked towards the door where Sherlock stood looking eager and she looked back to see Detective Bell who was equally as bemused as she was. Leaving the mortuary Joan had to practically run to keep up with Sherlock who was striding along the path up ahead.

She called out to him and he stopped.

“What were you playing at back there?” She scolded. Sherlock pursed his lips, not understanding her point.“Miss Watson has one on the lower part of her right hip” she said imitating his British accent.

Sherlock still looked confused. He flicked his eyes left and right as he puzzled.

“So...”

“So! Detective Bell was probably thinking hmmm... I wonder when Sherlock has seen Joan’s lower right hip. Surely she would have had to have been NAKED! Why has Sherlock seen her NAKED?” She exclaimed frustrated at Sherlock’s current idiocy. He made an ‘Oooo’ shape with his lips, finally understanding what she meant.

“I didn’t consider that, it just sort of came out when I saw she had one too.”

“Well, if next time you could think before speaking, I would be eternally grateful!”

He agreed to and they both continued to walk down the street, Sherlock walking at a more manageable pace now.

“So how did you get all you needed just by looking at her body then?” she enquired.

“The tattoo my dear Watson; THE TATTOO!” 

And with that he sped up with excitement again.


	8. 8

“She was one of yours then I presume?”

“I’m sorry?”

Sherlock covered his face and stood up pacing around the tables and chairs of the bar they were in. Bar; was a euphemism. It was more of a strip club, with poles and girls walking around laughing, talking and rehearsing. Joan stood somewhat uneasily leaning against the bar as Sherlock interrogated the club’s owner; Dean Pepper. 

Dean Pepper was in his mid thirties with a beard and a small hooped earring in one ear. His hair was jelled back and he smelt of tobacco. He wore a suit with a waistcoat and a garish yellow tie that clashed horribly. He fiddled with the earring has Sherlock spoke.

“Today, I saw a girl lying dead in a morgue. She had been murdered, not sure yet how but she had a very interesting mark on her. A tattoo, one that I recognised, of a little pepper on her ankle. Tiny, some might have even missed it. But I know that’s how you like to ‘brand’ your girls.” The man opened his mouth to argue but Sherlock went on. “Don’t try to deny it, you think it’s funny. Your name is Pepper, I know you like to tattoo your girls, just so everyone else in the business knows they’re ‘yours’. Why’d you kill her? Hmm. Did she try and leave? Was she going to report the other shady activities that I know for a fact, happen here?”

Pepper looked somewhat overwhelmed with the accusations and put his hands up revealing tobacco stained fingers. 

“Listen here man, I don’t know who you are but I do know I ain’t no killer. I’m an honest business man. None of our girls have even gone missin’ so I don’t know what you’re sayin’ about me killin’ one of them!”

“No, no I am sure you’re not a killer, probably paid someone to do it. What was it, she had no family, no – one to notice she was gone? Wait, did you say none of the girls who worked here have gone missing?”

“Nope, not one. We keep a check on ‘em all regularly, make sure they’re all safe, some of ‘em don’t have anyone else to look out for ‘em”  
Sherlock considered this for a moment.

“So what happens when you do ‘allow’ these girls to leave? How do you, remove your ‘claim’ to them?”

“If you’re talkin’ about the tattoos we normally pay to have them covered up. A little red heart normally does the job. And for your information buddy, I don’t own any of these   
girls; they are free to leave any time they want. They like workin’ here, they’re proud to work for such a popular club. So they get the tattoos to show they are pretty enough to work for Pepper.”

Sherlock clicked his tongue and slipped off into his own thoughts for a while, obviously condensing all that Dean Pepper had said.

“You’re pretty enough to work at Peppers”, Mr Pepper said turning to Joan now.

“I’m sorry?”

“You ever get bored workin’ with him, you come find me.” He smiled sickeningly and winked. Without warning Joan picked up the glass of water she had been drinking and threw it in his face.

“You are one vile, despicable man! The way you treat woman with utter disrespect and contempt sickens me. You take advantage of vulnerable women and use it for your own monetary gain. You may think that all women bow down to your every command but I will not stand here and be spoken to like that.”

The commotion and shaken Sherlock out of his thoughts and he laughed when he saw Pepper’s face and ironically ‘wet-look’ suit soaked with water. Sherlock and Joan walked towards the doors of the club.

“Hey, the offer still stands pretty lady! And like I said, I don’t make them stay, they like working here, the money is great and they get treated a damn sight better than in other clubs!”

With that Joan pushed open the club’s doors and the duo walked out.

“What a CREEP!” Joan exclaimed.

“Yeah, you handled him well though” Sherlock laughed.

“So are we any further with the case then?”

“I think so” replied Sherlock. “I think so, yes.”


	9. 9

“Where are we going now?” Joan groaned as Sherlock and her quick marched along the streets of New York, dodging tourists and those on their lunch breaks. 

“To see an old friend” Sherlock replied ducking off of the main street into a backstreet. Joan looked up at the neon sign above a small shop with its windows painted black. 

“Tattoos” it read. Sherlock went inside and Joan followed, the door seemed too small for even she had to duck to get inside. Her eyes adjusted and she looked around the slightly dingy shop. Drawings and pictures of tattoos smothered the walls and a young woman stood behind the counter chewing gum reading a magazine. The room out the back blasted out rock music and she didn’t look up when they entered. Sherlock cleared his throat in an attempt to catch her attention but the music drowned him out. He strode up to the counter (he often strode everywhere) and snatched the magazine out her hands. The woman jumped and looked up.

“Can I help you?” She asked.

“Yes, I need to speak to Gabe please.”

“He’s pretty busy...”

“Yes, it sounds that way” Sherlock replied smiling. “Tell him its Sherlock; I’m sure he will make time.”

The receptionist rolled her eyes and slunk off into the back room. The music stopped and a man emerged with the young woman trailing behind. He was slim with curly brown hair, shaved at the sides. His outstretched arms were covered in tattoos.

“Sherlock! Long time no see? How are ya bud? What can I do you for?”

The pair embraced and Sherlock stepped back. 

“Business this time I’m afraid Gabe.” The man looked slightly crestfallen.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yes, I don’t suppose you tattoo the girls who work for Dean Pepper do you?”

“Nooo no, I would never get involved with him. He is a dodgy piece of work.” 

“Do you know who does?”

“Nope, sorry. But taking a guess I would say it’s no one licensed or legitimate, in fact I wouldn’t be surprised if that amoeba does it himself.”

“Well, thank you for all your help. One last question, is it possible to tattoo a dead person?”

Gabe looked confused. “Umm I guess it would be, not sure why you’d want to though...”

Sherlock grinned and shook Gabe’s hand, “thank you for everything Gabe.” 

“Hope to see you again soon Sherlock, I would love to tattoo you again sometime.”

“Can we get something to eat” Sherlock said to Joan as they left the tattoo parlour, “I’m hungry.”

“Yeah that’s because we haven’t stopped all day Sherlock.”

They found a cafe and ordered baguettes. 

“So you think someone tattooed the woman, after she died?” Joan asked.

“It’s a possibility yes. Or another possibility that Dean Pepper was lying to us. The way I see it is there are two possible explanations. The girl had never worked for Pepper and someone tattooed the girl’s ankle to make it look like she had, to cover their tracks. Or Dean Pepper was lying and a woman who worked at Pepper’s has gone missing and is our victim.”

“How are you going to find out which possibility is correct then?”

Sherlock chewed a piece of baguette and swallowed. “I am going to have to go undercover Watson!”

Joan sighed, she could sense trouble ahead.

“Go on, tell me.” A begrudging Joan asked

“Well I will go to Pepper’s posing as a client. I will take ask one of the girls to come to dinner with me, offer her some money if she is reluctant and I’ll ask her if any of the girls have gone missing to see if Pepper is lying.”

Joan thought this plan through for a while. 

“Sounds like a good plan to me” she said somewhat sarcastically, “what could possibly go wrong?”

“Of course it’s a good plan, I thought of it” he said mocking arrogance. Or at least Joan thought he was putting it on.

“What tattoo did Gabe do for you then?” Joan said changing the topic and attempting to make sense of at least one of the tattoos on Sherlock’s body that he had never explained.

“This one.” He rolled up his sleeve and pointed to a tattoo of a tiny bird amongst his sleeve of tattoos. Sensing she wanted to know more he went on. 

“For Irene” he said simply. Joan nodded.

“That’s very sentimental. For you anyway, Sherlock.”

“She was the only thing I ever had worth sentiment” Sherlock whispered sadly.  
...  
Joan and Sherlock returned to Brownstone and whilst Joan cleaned the kitchen that Sherlock had trashed again Sherlock went upstairs.

“I clean the fridge once a month that was the deal” he always said when she complained. 

It had got dark outside and she was sitting on the sofa reading when Sherlock finally emerged from upstairs. He was wearing a tailored dark grey suit and waistcoat with a navy tie. He had brushed his hair and was wearing patent black shoes. Joan had never seen him looking so smart. He looked incredible she thought.  
Joan removed her reading glasses and gaped open mouthed 

“Sherlock you look...”

“I scrub up well, don’t I?” he said feigning arrogance again and glancing down at his suit.

“I’m off then” he said.

Joan said goodbye and Sherlock left. She tried to ignore her fast-beating heart and turning stomach as she listened to him leave.


	10. 10

Sherlock crashed back through the Brownstone’s door shortly after midnight. He pocketed his key and hung up his coat. Loosening his tie, he trotted into the living room; excited to tell Joan of the evening’s events. He called out to her but the room was in darkness. Unsurprised (he hadn’t expected her to wait up for him) he ran upstairs to wake her. He had weighed up her rage upon being woken up and the excitement of his news. His news had won. So he knocked on her door to give her approximately two seconds notice that he was coming in. He walked in only to be dismayed. She wasn’t in bed, the curtains weren’t drawn. Confused he jogged back downstairs. Perhaps she had gone out? Although she did normally tell him when she was going out. Sherlock clicked on the light and something caught his attention. A piece of paper on the coffee table; the poor light beforehand had made it invisible. Joan explaining where she is he thought as he flipped open the folded sheet.

It wasn’t Joan’s handwriting.

‘If you want to see your little bitch again I suggest you come along to 221 Main Street and come alone. Any cops and she loses her grey stuff.’

Sherlock reeled in horror and dropped the note. Looking around the room there was no signs of a struggle. A gun pointed at her head meant Joan would have gone quietly. Sherlock’s stomach churned and he took long breaths trying to steady his shaking. Joan wasn’t meek, she would be fine, he thought trying to reassure himself. He would go and see what they wanted, give them anything they wanted so long as they released Joan. He ran back to the Brownstone’s door grabbed his coat and left.  
...

Joan Watson sat tied around the waist to a rusting radiator bound by rope and gagged. Her hands were tied behind her. She could see in the dim light that she was in an abandoned house with boarded up windows and a thick layer of dust everywhere. Her eye was already starting to blacken and bruise where one of them had smacked her across the face with a gun when she had struggled to get free. It was cold and her breaths could be seen in front of her face. Quietly she sat reassuring herself that she would soon be 

free. 

Joan Watson had a plan.

Although her hands were tied behind her back, she was sure she could free them. Before the assailants arrived Joan had sat wrapping a present for a friend on the kitchen table when she heard a noise. She had slipped the pair of scissors into the pockets in the back of her jeans without thinking and had gone to investigate. Grabbed from behind they dragged her out of the house; unseen due to the late hour and darkness. Kicking and trying to scream she fought as they tied her hands and gagged her in the trunk of a car and drove her for what seemed like miles. She desperately tried to remember every turn they took, to try and map where they were taking her but it was hopeless and she bumped around the trunk of the car defeated. It was only when the two men had tied her to the radiator had she remembered the benediction in her back pocket.

Her two kidnappers sat on chairs a short distance away from her in the empty house that they had taken her to. Hushed tones suggested that they were deep on conversation and thus not totally focussed on her. Easing herself up slightly she pushed her arms down and her tied hands grappled for the scissors, she flicked them open as best she could: blade up, and began sawing away at the rope that bound her hands. It was a slow process but from the front it looked totally inconspicuous. She even kept a slightly dejected expression on her face the whole time to make it look even less suspicious. After some time she felt the rope give and she felt it fall to the floor. Her hands were free. But she kept them behind her back as to not give herself away. With freed hands it was much easier to slice through the rope that bound her to the radiator. Now completely untied, she remained in the same position and decided to attempt to gain information from her kidnappers. 

“Hey, what do you want from me?” she called out.

The pair turned to look at her and one of them laughed.

“Not you honeybee, your boyfriend.”

“If you mean Sherlock then he won’t come. Or he’ll call the police.”

“He ain’t callin’ no-one; if he does then I’m afraid I will have to place a bullet square in your head.”

The second man gestured with the gun. 

“What do you want with Sherlock then?” she asked further.

“He is looking into something he should keep his British sticky beak out of.”

“Would that ‘something’ be the death of a certain young woman with a pepper tattoo?”

“Sylvie? Yeah.”

She knew the woman’s name at last. 

“I’m guessing you work for Mr. Pepper then?”

Their worried glances gave them away before they had chance to lie.

“We don’t work for no-one.”

Joan nodded, pretending to believe them.

The men went back to their hushed talking and Joan waited. She waited until they were immersed in conversation and silently stood up. 

“Hey!” 

Both men spun round and their mouths dropped open to see Joan standing up. They rushed at her ready to grab her but Joan ducked to her left and ran as fast as she could past   
them. As she reached the wooden chairs that the men had been sat on one of them grabbed her from behind. Without hesitation she bent down and picked up a chair, smashing it across his head, he fell to the floor with a thud that echoed; knocked out and- more importantly- dropping the gun that he had held in his hand. Joan bent down and picked it up. Pointing it at the other kidnapper she cocked it.

“Now either you let me leave here or what was it? ‘I will place one of these square in your head’.”

The man raised his hands and got on his knees, completely terrified. 

Joan turned on her heels and ran out of the back room that she had been tied in and through the hall towards the front door. She wrenched it open and crashed into the man standing the other side. 

Sherlock caught Joan in his arms.

“Joan!” 

“Thanks for turning up” she replied jokingly through ragged breaths.

“Are you ok?” Joan nodded finally catching her breath. 

“Your face...” he gently stroked a finger across her bruised face. 

“Yeah, I got hit with this”. She waved the gun. “I don’t think anything is broken though” she added.

“Give it to me” Sherlock said looking through the glass of the front door, trying to see the culprit, ready to kill.

“Don’t.” The adrenaline was wearing off and she felt wearied. “Call Captain Gregson, if he gets here fast enough I think he should be able to arrest the man out cold on the floor in there. The other man had probably long since escaped out the back door.”

Sherlock obliged, suppressing the murderous feeling he had been harbouring upon seeing Joan’s face. Joan sat on the front wall of the house and put her head in her hands. 

“I think we both have some catching up to do.” She said turning to Sherlock. He smiled at her and they both heard sirens wailing in the distance.

Soon Gregson had arrived and the knocked out man was bundled into the back of a police car as he started to come around. Joan gave them details of what happened as Sherlock sat impatiently on the wall. Jumping up he pulled Gregson aside. 

“I’m going to take Joan home; you have the basics of what happened right? She’s exhausted.”

They turned to see Joan talking to Detective Bell trying hard to hide her tiredness. Gregson went over and told Joan she could leave. Gregson whistled for an officer to take them both home in a police car.

Upon arriving back at the house they went inside and stood in the hall. Sherlock bent down and kissed Joan on the forehead. She didn’t flinch or pull away.

“We’ll talk in the morning?” he said and she nodded and went upstairs to bed.

Sherlock could not sleep. He had to make sense of what information he had to personally see that all those involved in Joan’s kidnap received their just desserts.


	11. 11

Joan awoke some time after 2pm. The pain in her face was the first thing she noticed. She touched it tenderly and winced; sucking air through her teeth. Sitting up she saw 

Sherlock asleep in a chair by her bed, head rested on his hand, he was still in his suit and had obviously been watching her sleep to make sure she was ok. Joan felt slightly overwhelmed by his compassion. Swinging out of her bed she patted to the bathroom and caught her reflection in the mirror. Her whole left cheekbone, jaw and eye socket was swollen and purple. The bruising caught the light. It even looked somewhat artistic. 

“Jesus” she breathed. Sherlock stirred in the next room and came in.

“Good morning” he said behind her. She spun around he drew in a breath upon seeing her face.

“It’s bad isn’t it?”

Joan could see the honesty that plagued Sherlock, fighting with the sympathy he knew he wanted to show as he gawped at her face. The compassion won and he said –albeit unconvincingly.

“You look fine” he even pulled a smile. Joan suddenly remembered that they hadn’t shared their accounts of the previous evening. They left the bathroom and both went and sat on her bed. Joan told Sherlock about the two men getting into the house, taking her to the empty house, telling her that their real target was in fact Sherlock.

“But they were definitely working for Pepper, their faces gave them away” she confirmed. 

“I thought as much, my ‘date’ also confirmed some vital information for us. Bit annoying really.”

“Annoying?”

“Yeah. I somewhat loathe cut and paste cases. When your initial suspect does in fact turn out to be the culprit it makes it dull.”  
Joan was slightly bemused.

“But that means you’re right, you love being right! Your natural instinct was correct.”

He weighed this up.

“I suppose so yes, although it does take away from the thrill of the chase somewhat.”

“Sherlock, you’ve solved a case and you’re actually disappointed?”

“Alas, we have not solved it yet. We need proof, for the courts.”

“So what did the girl who worked for Pepper say then?”

“Her name was ‘Celeste’. Although I very much doubt that was actually her real name. I told her I wanted to take her out for a meal, no sex; I was just a lonely businessman who wanted someone to share a meal with. Of course I incentivised it for her and she was more than happy to oblige. Anyhow, I steered the conversation towards her work at Pepper’s and the other girls that worked there, asked her if they tended to stick around long. She said they all did apart from one girl.”

“Sylvie” they both said in unison.

Sherlock nodded.” Apparently she had got pretty close to Pepper’s wife. Really close and he had threatened to sack her. But before he had chance, she disappeared.”

“There’s our motive then.”

“Yes, we just need some proof now. I was thinking I would go out and ask around with Pepper’s associates.”

“Will you at least have breakfast first?” Joan asked. Sherlock agreed and they went down into the kitchen. Sherlock sat at the table whilst Joan stood and made coffee. She was putting the coffee into the mugs when she felt a strange sensation envelop her. Her head felt simultaneously light and incredibly heavy, her knees buckled and Sherlock saw her eyes roll back into her head. He caught her just before she hit the ground. 

“Oh my, Joan, please are you ok?” he stroked her face and gently tapped the unbruised side. She came back around and moaned softly.

“Sher....”

“I think you’re concussed, I’m calling an ambulance” he said taking his mobile out of his suit pocket. Her head rested on his lap as he spoke to the operator.

“Really, I’m fine.” she said faintly.

“No you’re not, look at yourself”. Joan attempted to raise her head but it fell limply back down onto Sherlock’s lap.  
...

“Ok Ms Watson, we are going to x-ray your face to make sure nothing is broken. It is possible that you have a concussion, especially with a blow to the face like that. How did you...”

“Pistol whipped” she explained to the female doctor who stood at the foot of your bed. The doctor looked confused.

“I was mugged.” Joan quickly lied to avoid difficult questions. 

“Ah I see.” The doctor smiled at her sweetly. Do you want me to tell your boyfriend that you’ll be going down to x-ray shortly? He’s waiting out in the corridor.”

“Oh no, he’s not... he’s not my boyfriend. But that would be lovely if you could tell him for me.”

“My apologies, I will do that for you now. Oh before I forget I will need a urine sample before your x-ray; standard procedure. It just checks to make sure you’re not pregnant, or   
have any serious illnesses or diseases.”

“Oh I know, I am, well, used to be a doctor too.”

“Really?! You got out! How’d you do it? Not many of us get to walk away from this crazy profession!”

“I found something more fulfilling” Joan replied with a smile. Her doctor smiled back and left. Joan provided a urine sample and dozed off, waiting for her x-ray. A short while later Sherlock came in, holding grapes.

“Wow Sherlock and there’s me thinking you weren’t into all this”

“All this...”

“You know, sentiment.”

“Well, I have to care for my associate, do I not?”

“Associate?”

“Yes, in light of current events you have been promoted. I would, ahem. I would love it if you would stay, after your time as my sober companion is up and become my trainee. Pass on all I know to you.”

Joan bit her lip and considered this for a moment.

“Sherlock I mean I love what we do but, my job is a sober companion. That’s what I do.”

“Oh don’t give me that Joanie” (Joan raised her eyebrows at being called Joanie. Sherlock rarely even called her Joan, let alone ‘Joanie’). “You loathe being my sober companion. No”   
He raised his hand to stop her interrupting him to disagree. “I know that you don’t loathe me, at least I hope you don’t. But I see it when we are on a case, when you crack a riddle or find a clue. Your eyes light up and your face glows, I can see the passion inside you when we are out solving crime. I see no such passion when you ask me for a urine sample to check for drugs or when you email my father to provide your fortnightly update.”

How could she disagree? It was true, as a sober companion she would flinch at the sound of her alarm clock and struggle to get out of bed. Yet when Sherlock shook her awake at 5am to share his exciting developments on a case with her, although she feigned annoyance she was secretly harbouring a growing sense of excitement at all that Sherlock did. 

And all though neither of them would admit it. It wasn’t just the deductive work that made them both energised. They both felt an equal sense of completion in each other’s company. Non-judgemental compassion and love. 

“Ok” Joan said finally.

Sherlock beamed “welcome aboard” he said. 

The doctor from earlier returned. 

“Sir, if you would like to step outside, I need to have a quick chat with Ms Watson.”

Sherlock stood up obligingly but Joan put out her arm to stop him.

“No it’s ok, I’d rather Sherlock be here, don’t worry you can say anything with him here too.”

The doctor looked conflicted but didn’t disagree.

“Something showed up on your urine sample.” 

Joan and Sherlock exchanged worried glances and he squeezed her hand. Compassion.

“Ms Watson, are you aware that you’re pregnant?”


	12. 12

Joan blinked. Her doctor still stood at the bottom of her bed, it wasn’t a dream. She turned to Sherlock who was looking equally dumbfounded.

Joan swallowed but her dry mouth stuck her tongue and the roof of her mouth together, she hoarsely replied to the question.

“No. I wasn’t.” 

“Just a few weeks I would say. It explains your fainting though; some women get very faint during pregnancy. I’m afraid you won’t be allowed that x-ray now though.”

Joan nodded and the room blurred as her eyes filled with tears. 

“Congratulations.” The doctor said enthusiastically and left. 

Joan turned back towards Sherlock. His face mirrored hers. Lips parted with shock, grey faced and blood pumping.

“I’m not sure what to say” he said finally. She shook her head, agreeing with the notion.

“I’m...pregnant?”

“I take it it’s...”

“Yes of course it is yours Sherlock!” she snapped back. “Can you take me home please?”

...

“What are we going to do Sherlock?” Joan lay in her bed, Sherlock sat beside her. 

“Whatever you want.”

“I don’t know what I want.”

“Well that’s ok too then.”

“Why are you being so bloody calm about this Sherlock?”

“I’m just being supportive.” He replied, somewhat hurt. 

“How do you feel about it?” she asked, tipping her head slightly, trying to read the world’s greatest detective’s face.

“Honestly?”

“Honestly” Joan replied firmly. 

“Elated” he said assuredly. 

“Really?”

He exhaled and forced out what he had been shutting away for many weeks now.

“Joan, I love you. I have from just a few hours of knowing you. I love the way that your hair bounces when you walk. I love the way that your freckles dust your face like chocolate dusting on a cappuccino. I love the way you stand up to me and refuse to allow me to become the petulant child that others do. I love the ways that your lips sit slightly apart when you sleep. I love the way your hips...”

Sherlock was interrupted by a kiss and his body tensed but soon melted into Joan’s kiss. 

“I had no idea you felt this way” she said pulling away.

“You are everything” he pulled her face towards his again and grabbed a handful of her hair. 

“I also love the way you smell like mint and apples” he added playfully. 

Joan flinched slightly when Sherlock’s kisses reached the bruised side of her face. He pulled away and looked at her apologetically but she simply leant forward and pulled up his top over his head. He quickly reciprocated. He moved his kisses down onto her neck and chest, gently sucking and biting her nipples when he reached them. She groaned in anticipation. His trail of kisses followed her stomach down and past her navel until her reached her bottoms. Slowly he pulled them off and he began to stroke the desired area. Her hips bucked upwards and her breaths grew faster and more ragged. She grabbed handfuls of his hair and he pressed his lips onto her; making her muscles tense and spasm towards him. She teetered on the edge so he slowly removed his own trousers and entered her. Joan threw her head off of the pillow as they both swayed together. Sherlock looked down into her eyes that this time were not glazed over, but looking back at him with the desire and love that he felt with her. He climaxed and a few seconds later so did she. He fell towards her, pressing his lips hard onto hers as they both breathed heavily.

“Thank you. Daddy” she added and Sherlock’s heart leapt up in his chest.


End file.
